


Coming to a head

by AshenBee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fluff, IwaOi Week 2020 (Haikyuu!!), M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, adolescence is wonderful isn't it, so much fluff it'll give you an outbreak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27876414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshenBee/pseuds/AshenBee
Summary: Oikawa holds himself proudly wherever he goes, fully aware of the effect he has on those around him, confidence leaking out of every single pore that covers his flawlessly smooth skin. His outer image is so perfectly constructed that people never even think to consider it to be anything less than the truth.But Iwaizumi knows that’s not the case.5 times Iwaizumi knew better, and 1 time he didn't.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50
Collections: IwaOi Week 2020





	Coming to a head

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to [ylliryart](https://twitter.com/ylliryart) for being my beta reader! Thank you for your wonderful feedback and helping me actually get this fic out into the light of day<3

Anyone that meets Oikawa immediately thinks that he’s one of those people that’s been blessed in every single way: he’s tall, good looking, athletic and sociable; captain of the volleyball team at a powerhouse school; always surrounded by swooning girls, their shrill voices ringing out left, right and centre any time he makes a public appearance.

Oikawa holds himself proudly wherever he goes, fully aware of the effect he has on those around him, confidence leaking out of every single pore that covers his flawlessly smooth skin. His outer image is so perfectly constructed that people never even _think_ to consider it to be anything less than the truth.

But Iwaizumi knows that’s not the case.

❁

It started when they were 14, halfway through middle school and just beginning to slip into the throes of puberty.

Oikawa had turned up one Monday with a large plaster across his chin.

"What’s that?" Iwaizumi had asked at lunch time after spotting him sitting on a bench round the back of the volleyball gym. That morning, Iwaizumi had unexpectedly found himself walking to school alone.

Oikawa had stared at him blankly, lips pressed together in a thin line. "What’s what?"

"Huh?" Iwaizumi had frowned and pointed to his own chin, as if he were the one with the plaster. "That bandage. Did you fall over or something?"

Oikawa’s eyebrows had twitched and his cheeks had grown red, his mouth twisting into a grimace as he looked away. "It’s nothing."

"But why—"

"I said it’s nothing!" Oikawa had turned to snap at him, shoulders tensed and fists balled, his eyes shiny with the beginning of tears.

"What?" Shocked by the unexpected reaction, Iwaizumi had dropped his bread and juice carton on the floor and sat down next to Oikawa, putting a rough hand on his shoulder. He had pushed gently, leaning to get a look at Oikawa’s face. "It’s clearly not nothing, dumbass! What happened?"

Oikawa’s face had gone even redder—redder than Iwaizumi thought he’d ever seen it—as his eyes widened. He had slapped Iwaizumi’s hand away with a whine. "Nothing happened!" Teeth bared and face scrunching up, the tears had welled up and burst over his cheeks, and then he had brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them, burying his face out of sight as his shoulders shook with tiny sobs. "Stupid Iwa-chan!"

"Wha—" Iwaizumi had felt his own face heat up with indignation, unsure what had just happened but semi-confident that Oikawa was overreacting. "Oi, idiot!" When Oikawa had ignored him and whined again, Iwaizumi had frowned, guilt growing in his chest. "H-hey," he had said a little softer, hands clenched on his thighs, "Oikawa, my bad…"

Oikawa had stilled, sniffled. Mumbled something.

"What?"

Oikawa had uncurled slowly, dragging his arm across his face and leaving a streak of snot and tears over his skin, mouth set in a pout. "It’s okay, Iwa-chan." He had glanced at Iwaizumi. "I’m sorry I called you stupid," he had muttered, kicking at the ground. Then he had lifted a shaking hand to his face, exhaling as he slipped his nail under the edge of the plaster before quickly ripping it off to reveal the red, swollen spot on his chin.

Iwaizumi had peered at Oikawa’s face carefully before leaning back and raising an eyebrow. "A pimple?"

Oikawa had bitten his bottom lip and nodded, looking like he might start crying again.

After a moment of silence, Iwaizumi had burst out laughing.

Oikawa’s eyes had been wide and confused, verging on betrayed. "W-why are you _laughing_?"

"Because!" Iwaizumi had brought a fist down on Oikawa’s head.

"Ow! Iwa-chan, what was that for?!"

"Dumbass! I thought it was something serious!" He had crossed his arms and huffed out a breath, half laughter and half scoff. "That’s just a pimple. Why are you crying over a pimple?"

Mouth twisted, Oikawa had slid his gaze to the plaster between his fingers, turning it over slowly. "I-I’ve never had a pimple before…" He had repeatedly pressed his fingers against the sticky plastic, wearing out the weak adhesive within seconds. "What if it leaves a mark?"

Another smack.

"Ow!"

"Who cares if it leaves a mark?"

"But Mum said I don’t want to ruin my skin…"

"Why would a mark ruin your skin?"

"Because it’ll leave a scar."

"Then you’ll just have a scar." Iwaizumi had sat back and crossed his arms with a huff. "It won’t be ruined, it’ll be cool. Like a samurai."

Oikawa had suddenly looked up at Iwaizumi then, doubt still clouding his face even as his eyes shone. "It would be cool…?"

"Yeah." Iwaizumi had nodded, exuding the kind of confidence that was so particular to children. "All the strong guys have battle scars."

Oikawa had considered Iwaizumi for a moment longer before nodding, his previous distress vanishing. "You’re right. Yeah!" He had folded the plaster up and tucked it into his pocket before jumping up, grinning.

When Oikawa got another spot, he had turned up at school with his head bowed, his usual brilliance dialled down to only a dim glow. But then he had met Iwaizumi’s questioning eyes and hesitated before gritting his teeth and forcing out a grin, the shiny red bump on his forehead sitting in plain, innocent view next to its companion on his chin.

❁

Mostly, he wouldn’t touch them.

When they were having dinner at Oikawa’s house, if he reached up a hand to scratch at the swollen skin, his mother would immediately tell him to stop.

"You’ll ruin your skin, Tooru. You don’t want to have bad skin when you’re older, right?"

Whenever she said that, Oikawa would snatch his hand back, mouth set stubbornly. "I won’t ruin it." Then he would grin at Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi would wonder what it was like when he wasn’t there.

When they did homework together, Oikawa's fingers would invariably drift to his spots. Sometimes, Iwaizumi would glance up to see a distant look in Oikawa’s eyes as his nails scraped against his face, and Iwaizumi would bark out a question to drag his focus back to their workbooks. Sometimes, he would look over to see blood under Oikawa’s nails, his skin weeping, and Iwaizumi would groan and dig through his bag for the tissues he now carried with him, shoving one into Oikawa’s curled hand.

Eventually, Iwaizumi got so used to Oikawa’s habits that he could almost tell when Oikawa was about to touch his skin, even when he wasn’t looking. They could be in the locker room after volleyball practice, or getting snacks at lunch, or lying in the snow in the park under a mountain of layers, and Iwaizumi would get a tiny prickle at the back of his neck.

"Oikawa!"

"Hng! W-what, Iwa-chan?"

"…Nothing."

" _What_ ? Iwa-chan, don’t scare me for _nothing_!"

Generally, Oikawa would move on then, distracted hands leaving his skin alone. Other times, he would reach up again after some minutes and his fingers would trail over his cheek, or down the back of his neck to his shoulders.

" _Oikawa_."

Oikawa would freeze. And then his fingers would run over the swollen skin, ministrations undeterred by Iwaizumi’s gaze boring into him. "What is it, Iwa-chan?"

Iwaizumi would frown. "Stop it."

Oikawa would look at him then, dropping his hand with an irritated huff. "What’s the problem? Are you jealous just because your skin is plain and boring?"

"You’ll get a scar," Iwaizumi would tell him, the words worn flat from use.

"You’re the one that said scars are cool."

"Yeah, they _are_ cool, but only if you don’t mope and whinge about it."

Oikawa would pout, clasping his hands together.

Sometimes, after another while, he would lift up a hand again.

Iwaizumi would reach over and slap it away.

"Ow! Iwa-chan, don’t be mean!"

"Then don’t be annoying, Trashykawa!"

"Don’t call me that!"

They would bicker until Oikawa balled up his hands, his spots forgotten.

❁

In their final year of middle school—just as the weather was starting to grow uncomfortably warm and muggy—Oikawa turned up one Tuesday with his face strangely pale where he usually sported a smattering of red spots. For a time, it had seemed like they might start improving, but recently they had worsened and turned into full-blown acne, much to Oikawa’s dismay.

Iwaizumi frowned as he watched Oikawa walk up to him at the intersection, humming cheerily. Upon closer inspection, Iwaizumi could just about see the outline of the spots, but they were hidden under what looked like a layer of paint, the pale colour of which made Oikawa look almost sickly in comparison to his usual skin tone.

"Oikawa. What’s wrong with your face?"

Oikawa faltered, then plastered on his usual grin as they fell into step next to each other. The skin around his mouth creased. "Good morning to you too, Iwa-chan~!"

"What did you do?"

Oikawa sighed exasperatedly, his head hanging before turning to almost glare at Iwaizumi. "If you _must_ know, I thought it was time to do something about my appearance. I can’t have Ushiwaka-chan judging me in our last—"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Another exasperated huff. "I just…my sister said it would help."

"Oh, your sister’s back?"

"She’s just visiting for a couple days. Anyway, she said it’s called _concealer_ , and apparently it helps hide things, like spots and stuff. She said she doesn’t need this one anymore so she gave it to me."

Iwaizumi chewed at the inside of his mouth, unconvinced. "It looks weird. Is that really how you use it?"

"Yes," Oikawa shot back, voice sharp. "As if _you_ would know better."

Iwaizumi stared as they walked. Oikawa's forehead was strangely smooth, like clay. "But won’t covering them up make them worse?"

Oikawa clicked his tongue. " _No_. My sister uses it all the time and she doesn’t have any spots."

"I don’t have any spots either."

Oikawa shot Iwaizumi a look that he couldn’t quite decipher before it was already gone, Oikawa stomping ahead with a frustrated groan. "Well that’s because your face is already ugly enough as it is!"

As soon as the bell chimed for lunch that day, Oikawa was swamped by the girls and a few boys in their class. All of them asked why his skin looked different today, to which Oikawa forced out a slightly strained grin. "It’s called concealer! It helps your skin."

Iwaizumi stared distantly at his desk, swinging back on his chair as he waited for Oikawa to finish so they could go get lunch. His eyes slid over to the huddle briefly before settling back on his open workbook, notes scrawled across the page messily.

The girls squeaked in surprise as one of the boys raised his hand suddenly. "Oh, I’ve heard of that! My sister uses it!"

Oikawa relaxed, the tension in his voice morphing into something genuine. "Yeah, my sister was the one who told me about it!"

"But…” One of the girls cleared her throat. “That’s make-up. Why are you using it?" she asked.

Iwaizumi stopped swinging, chair balanced at an angle.

"Huh? What do you mean? It’s for—"

"Yeah, I thought only girls wear make-up," one of the other boys said. The girls all shared an uncomfortable glance, twisting their hands.

Oikawa raised a hand, waving it in front of his face. "Ah, it’s actually—"

The back of Iwaizumi’s neck prickled.

"—my sister said that—"

"Oikawa!"

Everyone jumped as Iwaizumi suddenly slammed his feet down and stood, chair clattering loudly. He walked over to Oikawa’s desk, the others standing back to make way for him. Oikawa stared up at him with a blank expression, fingers curled against his cheek.

"Food. Let’s go."

Oikawa blinked. Then he stood and they were on their way out of the classroom, Oikawa grinning back sheepishly at their classmates.

Iwaizumi bought the last milk bread and gave it to Oikawa, then grumbled throughout the rest of lunch about the old lady at the cafeteria being stingy while Oikawa laughed, first weakly and then loudly.

❁

No one brought up the concealer again, and Oikawa smiled over at Iwaizumi the way he always did throughout the rest of their classes that day. Iwaizumi just met his happy, cakey face with his usual frown, sometimes sighing.

Then they had volleyball practice after school.

"Eh? Oikawa-san, what’s wrong with your face?"

"Hn? What?"

Iwaizumi picked up a stray ball and glanced over from across the net to see first-year Kageyama standing in front of Oikawa, whose face was streaked in lines, his skin a mosaic of stiff cream and sweaty pink and spotty red. Chest heaving from spike drills, Oikawa raised his eyebrows and aimed a polite smile at Kageyama.

Kageyama blinked his wide, innocent eyes and motioned to his own face. "There’s… _something_ on your face."

There was a bloated second of silence—a second in which balls smacked against the gym floor—a second in which the coach blew his whistle, calling them to gather round—a second in which Oikawa opened his mouth, slowly, hesitantly, his smile falling away—

"Oikawa!"

Oikawa whipped round to stare at Iwaizumi, Kageyama following his gaze a second later.

Iwaizumi’s fingers tightened on the ball as his mouth hardened. Then he tucked the ball under one arm and pulled up his shirt, wiping at his face before walking round the net and past Oikawa, towards the coach. "Let’s line up."

Oikawa’s eyes widened for a moment before he hurriedly pulled his shirt up to rub at his own face, muffled laughter ringing out unnaturally. When he emerged, his face pink and red and only a thin line of cream left around his temples and ruffled hairline, he flashed a grin at Kageyama as he scampered off after Iwaizumi.

❁

Oikawa came to school the next day with his acne once again on full display, laughing and chatting with everyone as per usual. He grinned at Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi frowned back, and Oikawa ran his hands over his skin and Iwaizumi called to him. They bickered, and Iwaizumi all but forgot about why they were even arguing, except for the prickle along the back of his neck.

It was the same the following day. And the day after, and the day after that. Eventually, the days blended together and turned oppressively hot, and then Iwaizumi had to go visit his grandparents one weekend.

The following Monday he waited for Oikawa at the intersection. When Oikawa turned the corner and came running over, Iwaizumi blinked and frowned.

Something was different.

"Morning, Iwa-chan! How are your grandparents? Were you bored without me~? Did your granny give you those sweets again? Oh, oh, did you tell your grandpa that we went to that game—"

"Oikawa."

Oikawa stopped, eyes and smile wide. "What is it, Iwa-chan?"

"You…" Iwaizumi tilted his head, a strange discomfort in his belly. "What…"

Oikawa simply grinned, hooking his arm through Iwaizumi’s and pulling him onwards. "Come on, we’ll be late."

He continued to stare at Oikawa’s hair, his eyes, his mouth, his cheeks—"Wait, your spots—" He pulled his arm free. "Oi, did you put that stuff on your face again?" Oikawa’s skin was smooth now, an even colour that looked almost exactly like his previously healthy skin.

"It's called _make-up_ , Iwa-chan," Oikawa teased. He glanced back, his eyes dancing. "Don't worry, my sister showed me how to use it properly this time. I’ve got the hang of it now."

If Iwaizumi looked closely, he could still make out the outline of the spots, but it was nothing like the first time; he could barely see them anymore. "Huh." He couldn’t help but be impressed, even as the discomfort took up quiet residence in a corner of his stomach.

At school, the girls all crowded round Oikawa’s table while Iwaizumi swung on his chair, waiting to go to lunch.

At volleyball, Oikawa grit his teeth as he focused on practice. When Kageyama tried to talk to him, he turned his back on him and began calling to someone else on the team, forcing out laughter.

On the way home, Oikawa elbowed Iwaizumi, his face still seemingly clear of spots.

(Although Iwaizumi could still see them, if he squinted. If the light hit Oikawa just right, he could make out the bumps under the smooth colour. If he stared, they were there. Just hidden.)

"Hey, don’t be jealous Iwa-chan! I could always show you how to use make-up, so you don’t have to suffer with that face of yours anymore."

Iwaizumi shoved Oikawa with a grunt, listening to his light laughter bubble out. "Who’s jealous of some make-up, dumbass."

❁

Oikawa is waltzing over to the intersection, hands deep inside his pockets as he calls to Iwaizumi over the top of his thin scarf, breath billowing and voice ringing out like a bell. Some nearby girls jump and he shoots an apology at them, his smile blinding the poor creatures into blushing messes. He skips the last two steps to Iwaizumi’s side and bumps his shoulder.

"Morning, Iwa-chan!"

Something is different.

They fall into step, Oikawa chatting happily.

Iwaizumi stares at him, brows drawn.

They are in their last year. They have lost to Shiratorizawa (again) and they have lost to Karasuno (again). They have mostly stopped going to practice, because the third years don’t need to go anymore. Sometimes, they still show up, anyway.

"Iwa-chan, I know you’re going to miss me when I leave, but you don’t need to stare so hard."

Iwaizumi curls his lip and looks away. "Shut up, Shittykawa."

"You’re so mean!"

Iwaizumi barely listens in class, his neck prickling in the chill air as he wonders if Argentina gets as cold as Miyagi. He wonders if Oikawa will remember to pack his heavy winter clothes when he leaves in the spring. He thinks maybe he should bring his heavy coat to the airport so Oikawa at least has something to wear when he arrives, but he’s pretty sure Oikawa would just make some comment about it being uncool. Besides, he’s not sure it would even fit Oikawa, what with his giraffe arms and shoulders.

The bell rings for lunch and Iwaizumi swings back on his chair, lost in thought until Oikawa comes barreling into the classroom. Everyone turns to stare at him except Iwaizumi.

"Iwa-chan, what are you doing? You _know_ how quickly they sell out of milk bread! Why are you still sitting there?! Let’s _go_!"

Iwaizumi lets Oikawa drag him the whole way to the shop, and then listens to him complain all throughout the walk up to the roof about the lack of milk bread. He rolls his eyes and sighs as they sit down with their backs to the fence; kicks Oikawa in warning when he reaches for Iwaizumi’s curry bread; stuffs his mouth with the rest of the bread while ignoring Oikawa’s pouting face; sips on his juice box loudly just to aggravate Oikawa.

"Iwa-chan, why are you so grumpy today?" Oikawa whines, shaking Iwaizumi by the shoulder. He pushes him away then and reaches resignedly for one of his onigiri, a choice driven by pettiness and impulse—" _If I can’t have milk bread, I won’t buy bread at all!"_ —that he apparently regretted within seconds of sitting down and seeing Iwaizumi’s usual selection of bread. "You don’t even care what you eat; you’re like a robot that just needs fuel to function."

"You’re such a whiny ass, Shittykawa." Iwaizumi finishes his juice box and then sits his chin in his palm, wondering what is going through Oikawa’s mind—it may be warm compared to the morning, but Oikawa only ever comes up to the roof when he feels like being alone. Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa wrinkles his nose and takes a bite of his salmon onigiri. The space between Oikawa’s eyebrows narrows as he chews, his smooth lips drawing into a pout.

"What?"

Iwaizumi blinks, his gaze jumping away from Oikawa’s mid-chew mouth and coming into focus on his questioning eyes. "What?"

Oikawa finishes chewing and swallows, bracing his elbow on his knee as he leans forward and down to look up into Iwaizumi’s face with a frown. "Iwa-chan, are you sick?"

Iwaizumi scowls and shoves Oikawa back. "Shut up. Eat your damn food." Oikawa scoffs and turns away, shoving the rest of his onigiri in his mouth with an unhappy hum.

Iwaizumi takes his second bread out and then gathers their rubbish, collecting it into the plastic bag. Oikawa unwraps his second onigiri and Iwaizumi holds his hand out for the wrapper, which Oikawa places heavily in his palm without turning to look at him.

Twitching his gaze up to say something, he catches sight of a small bump on Oikawa’s temple, tucked away under the shadow of his fringe. The words leave his mouth before he has time to register them.

"Oikawa, is that a pimple?"

Oikawa jerks round to look at Iwaizumi with a panicked look. "What? No! I mean, kind of, but it’s not…" His hand lifts to his fringe, pulling the hair flat against his forehead. "It’s nothing."

Iwaizumi tilts his head, brows drawn, and suddenly he realises what’s different. "Are you wearing make-up again?"

It had been almost a year since Oikawa last wore make-up—since his acne finally improved and eventually disappeared, leaving him with clear skin and a new face washing regimen that made him glow even brighter, blinding any poor unsuspecting souls that happened to look upon the full force of his perfect smile and his perfect face.

 _"Maybe I should give you my things, Iwa-chan, so we can hide that face of yours._ I _certainly don’t need it anymore."_

It’s subtle and barely noticeable, and just as skilful as it was back when Oikawa had been hiding his acne throughout the start of high school. Most people were unaware that he even had anything less than perfect skin at the time; only the stragglers spread over his back and shoulders clearly indicated otherwise, and even though they became frequent targets of Oikawa’s picking when he got stressed, Oikawa would always turn his back to the wall when they changed for volleyball or PE to engage everyone in cheery, distracting conversation as he covered up his latest victims.

Now, Iwaizumi wonders why he even bothered to do his whole face—the spot is almost entirely hidden by his hair anyway.

Oikawa lets go of his fringe and sighs, looking down his nose at his half-eaten onigiri. "Just today. Just until this pimple goes away." He aims a weak smile at Iwaizumi. "Can’t have people thinking poorly of the volleyball club captain now, can we?"

"You already made Yahaba the captain…"

"I still have a reputation to uphold, Iwa-chan! Some of us must live in the public eye, you know!"

Iwaizumi grunts. Oikawa sighs melodramatically and leans back against the fence, gaze trained on the far side of the roof while he goes back to his onigiri. Iwaizumi opens his second bread. They eat in tense silence, and Oikawa lifts a hand to rub the back of his head, his fingers dipping under the collar of his shirt.

Iwaizumi’s neck prickles.

"Oikawa."

Oikawa jumps, his hand flying down into his lap. "What?"

Iwaizumi frowns, his stomach turning restlessly as he considers Oikawa’s tight expression, eyes wide and lips pressed together. Iwaizumi’s eyes flit away from his face momentarily as Oikawa’s free hand clenches into a fist.

Throwing the bread aside, he grabs the back of Oikawa’s collar and pulls him towards him.

"Gah—!"

Iwaizumi peers down the back of his collar, craning his head to get a better look. With a grunt, he pushes Oikawa forwards and shifts behind him, pushing his blazer and jumper out of the way to tug at the bottom of Oikawa’s shirt and free it from his trousers.

"Wha— Iwa-chan, this is—"

He pulls the shirt up along with the rest of his clothes, bunching the material against Oikawa’s head, and rakes his eyes over the wide expanse of his back; the skin above the band of his trousers is smooth and tanned, stretched taut over muscles that are twitching in response to the sudden cold air.

Iwaizumi’s eyes travel up, following the line of his spine past his ribs and his shoulder blades to settle on the plane of skin at the top of Oikawa’s back, where pink spots and brown scabs litter the entire width of his shoulders. A couple of spots are red and weeping, swollen, and Iwaizumi can see tiny dark dots marring the inside of the shirt he has scrunched in his hand.

Oikawa is quiet, and when Iwaizumi rolls the shirt back down over his back, letting the jumper and blazer fall messily, he turns to face him with eyes downcast.

Iwaizumi speaks after a moment. "Why didn’t you say anything?"

Oikawa shrugs, turning the onigiri in his hands. "Why should I?"

"How long have you had them?" He thinks back to the last time he saw Oikawa’s back. "You didn’t have them during Spring High, right?"

Oikawa barks out a single, dry laugh. "What are you, my mum?"

" _Oikawa_." Iwaizumi’s voice is hard and pressing.

Oikawa throws a hand up and stares pointedly at his onigiri with distaste. "Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. They came back. They’ll go away eventually."

"Not if you maul them like this!" Iwaizumi gestures to Oikawa’s back, caught between frustration and worry. "You’ll seriously ruin your skin if you keep this up, Shittykawa."

Oikawa throws the rest of his onigiri down as his face twists and he glares at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi thinks he might see a tiny crease of make-up under his nose. "Weren’t you the one that said scars are for heroes? That they’re cool?"

"That’s not—"

"I can’t keep counting on you every time I get a flare up, you know."

Silence. Swollen, bloated, uncomfortable.

Oikawa swallows. Licks his lips and takes a deep breath. Looks down and lets out a huge, rushing sigh.

He picks up the onigiri and dusts it off, turning it in his hands. Iwaizumi watches him silently, his stomach squirming like a dying animal.

"I can’t—" Oikawa’s voice catches, and he clears his throat and tries again. "I can’t keep counting on you, Iwa-chan. Next year, and the year after that… Eventually, I’ll have to deal with my problems on my own. I’ll have to pace myself, and control myself, and look after myself, and I’ll have to do it without you. Because I chose that." He looks up at Iwaizumi then. "I chose to leave."

Iwaizumi’s brows twitch into a half-frown as he meets Oikawa’s gaze head on. He can see Oikawa, sitting in his room in Argentina, refusing to call on video because his face is red and spotty and scratched to hell and he doesn’t want a lecture. He can see him running his fingers over his temples and forehead and nose and chin as he pores over governmental red tape, struggling to decipher the English and Spanish and refusing to ask anyone except the anonymous void of the internet for help just because he thinks he has to do everything on his own. He can see him sitting at his window and picking absentmindedly at his neck and shoulders as he yearns to call someone—anyone—because he misses Japan, but refusing to pick up the phone because he can’t let anyone know that he’s having a hard time.

Iwaizumi can already feel his neck prickling.

Iwaizumi swallows and nods slowly. "I know."

Oikawa’s shoulders drop a fraction and his eyes soften. He nods and looks back at his hands, at his half eaten onigiri. "Right, so—"

"But you’re still here right now."

Oikawa looks back up, mouth parted and one eyebrow raised.

"You haven’t left yet. If you want to be stupid and shut everyone out of your life—"

"It’s not—"

"—then you can try once you leave. But until you get on that plane, you’re still here. And we’re still here. So…" Iwaizumi jerks his chin up, steeling himself. "Let us help while we still can."

Oikawa considers him for a moment before he breathes out a gentle chuckle, a small smile playing on his lips. "A~ahh…" He closes his eyes and sits back on his hands, face tilted to the bright, winter sky, onigiri forgotten in his lap. "You’re such a brute, Iwa-chan." His chest shakes with another laugh. "Thanks."

The school bell rings.

Iwaizumi gathers up the plastic bag of rubbish—picks up the remainder of his bread and shoves it in his mouth whole—and stands, looking down at Oikawa who hasn’t moved. "Oi, hurry up and finish your food. We’ll be late."

Oikawa rolls his head sideways to pout up at Iwaizumi. He exhales long and slow, as if the weight of the entire world is resting on his shoulders, and looks down at his onigiri sadly.

"Tomorrow I’m _definitely_ getting milk bread."

❁

Back in class, Iwaizumi swings on his chair and feels his stomach turn restlessly. His neck prickles, and he wonders if it’s a coincidence. Looking out at the now grey sky, he thinks that he feels like watching a movie tonight.

After class, he goes to find Oikawa and sees him sitting at his desk, smiling up at the girls talking to him. Iwaizumi stands in the doorway for a second as people pass him on their way home in twos and threes, cheerful conversations rising and mingling in the corridor all around him.

Oikawa lifts a hand and rubs the back of his neck, fingers dipping below his collar as he chats.

"Oi, dumbass!"

Oikawa and his posse turn to look at Iwaizumi in the doorway. Iwaizumi jerks his chin down the corridor.

Oikawa drops his hand, grins, and stands.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was super self-indulgent. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it<3
> 
> This is a pretty old fic now, but Iwaoi week day 5 fluff and 5 things suddenly seemed like a good time to brush off the dust and finally let it graduate from my wips folder.
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment or shout at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/unicornjellybee) or [Tumblr](https://unicornjellybee.tumblr.com). I'm mostly just an art rt/rb bot, but sometimes I cry about life and anime boys.
> 
> Thank you for reading<3


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